


Saved For This

by days4daisy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Brief Violence, M/M, Mark of Cain, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 05, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-14 22:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4582860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You remind me of her in some ways," Cain murmurs. "My Colette." Castiel frowns at this. Cain frowns too. "You will love what you should not, Castiel. This is why they will kill you."</p>
<p>"Love saved you," Castiel argues.</p>
<p>Cain shakes his head. "Love segregated me from what I am. It will do the same with you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saved For This

**Author's Note:**

> I love this pairing so, so, so, so much...and then I never write it ^^; This is my attempt to fix that!
> 
> Spoilers through the start of Season 5, and for Cain's story line through his episode in Season 9

In the beginning, there was light and darkness. A garden, a serpent. Two brothers, and a curse.

The Knights preyed on the world, trampling any who crossed their path. Warring angels burst like stars, streaking blood across the sky. Wings burned and bodies caved. They spared none. 

Except one. A simple soldier on a suicide mission. Torn and bleeding, collapsed on broken wings.  The angel knelt beside a slain brother. His true face streaked with mud and tears.

The tears caught Cain's eye. Emotion was a foreign thing to the servants of the sky. Eternal cannon fodder, angels. No conscience, no free will.

Cain bent before the aberration and placed the First Blade against his neck. The angel lifted his head. Defiant. Interesting.

"What's your name, little bird?" Cain asked.

"Castiel." A proud thing. Welcoming death without a flinch.

"Why do you weep, Castiel?"

"You murdered my kin," the angel replied.

Cain smiled. "Yes. And you could not save them. Does this bother you, Castiel?" The angel was silent. "You can't save yourself either, you know."

Castiel inclined his head. His delicate neck pressed closer to the blade.

Cain stood and sheathed it. The Mark burned its disapproval, its lust for blood insatiable.  "Go home, Castiel," he said. "Tell your brothers of this massacre. Tell them, too, that if your kind cross my path again, none will survive me."

The beasts of Heaven did not listen. Legions were crushed beneath the boots of Lucifer's Knights.

Funny that emotion was Cain's downfall in the end. His lost love. His final massacre. A forgotten blade and willing exile.

***

Cain does not permit trackers. His conjured traps keep his space undisturbed. Screams of the foolish who enter his radius echo between the trees. Red crackles of dying demons. Blue flames of extinguished angels.

Until one approaches. Cain smiles when he senses him. He finds he's been expecting this moment, it is a wise tactic for the hosts to employ. An old curiosity, revisited.

He opens his door to the broken one.

Castiel has taken a vessel. A clean-cut man, appealing but unremarkable. Behind the skin, Cain sees a shadow of his true form, wings healed and folded at his back.

"Hello, little bird," he greets. "Were you sent to spy?"

"No."

"Ah. To kill me, then?"

"I was not sent," Castiel says.

Cain's eyes narrow. "Have you strayed from your flock?"

"I came to see you," Castiel tells him.

"Well." Cain straightens. "Here I am."

"May I come in?"

"Not without cause." Cain's voice darkens.

Castiel squints. Cain sees the wings thrum inside his vessel. "I'd like to understand why you spared my life," he says.

"You were witness to our massacre-"

"Slaughter of that scale does not require a witness."

Cain peers closer. Humanity is new to his little bird. Castiel's eyes shine like glass, still adjusting to the limitations of the flesh.

"Are you accusing me of favoritism?" Cain asks.

"I...have questions."

"You have feelings," Cain presses.

Castiel's mouth tightens. "Yes."

"They're a dangerous thing, feelings."

"They are," Castiel agrees. His glazed human stare ticks over Cain's expression.

"And what do your feelings say now?" Cain asks. This conversation has extended too long as is. But he still finds himself curious.

"I'd like to come inside," Castiel replies.

His persistence makes Cain chuckle. "You've brought something for me." Castiel nods. "Present it."

Behind the angel, Cain's barren yard blooms with new life. Flowers blossom and herbs grow. Honeysuckles. An apple tree. Even Cain's withered soul warms at the sight. Nature is a luscious, sustaining thing. His gaze follows a hummingbird as it flits from flower to flower.

"Demons have no use for these things," Cain mutters. A lie. Cain aches to tend to beautiful things. His parents' heartbreak fell to him, and, through him, to his entire poisoned line.

"I've...observed your beekeeping," Castiel admits. "I admire your care. You respect their work."

Cain's smile grows more intrigued. A soldier admiring the tamer of servants... What exactly has his little bird come for?

"How long have you spied on me, Castiel?"

Castiel frowns, confused. "You've felt my presence before now," he points out.

Cain acknowledges this with a nod. "But you did not approach."

"You did not invite me," Castiel counters. "Until today."

Cain raises a brow. "Did I?"

"Yes."

Cain pushes his door back and steps to the side. "Come in, then. Claim your prize for your patience."

The angel enters. His human head turns stiffly, surveying the space with his adjusting eyes.

Cain goes into the kitchen. The angel follows. "Can you taste things, little bird?"

"I taste the sum of parts," Castiel answers. "It is generally unpleasant."

"Tea with honey from my bees. Can you taste this?"

Castiel looks unsure. "I would...like to try."

Cain huffs, but he puts a pot of water on the stove. Two tea cups are set out, a spoonful of honey in each, with fresh mint and lemon. Castiel keeps a close eye on his actions.

"You said you want to understand why I spared you," Cain says.

Castiel nods. He sets his hands on the counter. Clean, strong human hands. "I'd like to understand what I am."

Cain hums. "That's a different question."

Castiel shakes his head. "You spared me because you sensed something about me," he says. "I want to know what that is."

Cain snorts. "Your own kind can illuminate you, I'm sure."

"No." Castiel falters after the word leaves his lips. He grits his teeth. "I am not like my kin," he mutters.

Cain cocks his head. "Are you more like me then?"

"I am not demon-kind." Castiel spits, disgusted.

Typical angel. "Funny," Cain remarks. "You despise Lucifer's children, but you bring me flowers and fruit."

Castiel frowns. "You feel what demons cannot," he argues. "And you have chosen to resist the curse you bear-"

"For now," Cain says. "One day, your kind will have to put me down." He smiles, bitter. "A rabid dog, succumbed to madness." Castiel lowers his head. Cain watches his reaction with interest. "You are afraid they'll kill you too. Aren't you, Castiel?"

"I do not fear death," he replies. "I fear what I would do to deserve it." Castiel squeezes his hands, knuckles bent in bony arches. He tilts his head at the sight.

Cain watches as well, but he wants to do more than observe. His fingers stroll gentle paths up Castiel's neck. Even in this human body, Castiel has retained his elegance. A strong, regal chin. His eyes a striking, lingering blue.

Castiel peers at him through slit lashes. His lips part at the touch.

The teapot whistles behind them.

Cain removes his hand from Castiel's neck and fetches the hot water. "Come," he says. "Taste." He fills the tea cups and waits for the angel to join him.

Castiel takes his cup and examines it like an evolved creature. He holds the brew to his face and breathes the steam. The scent makes Castiel smile. "I have always enjoyed mint," he admits.

"As have I," Cain tells him.

Castiel allows himself a cautious sip. His face brightens.  "You taste it," Cain observes.

"Yes." Castiel sounds surprised, and pleased.

"It is of the Earth." Cain shrugs and sips from his own mug. "Your Father's creation. It makes sense that angels can experience it."

"He is your Father too," Castiel points out.

Cain sighs. "My father was a sad, weak man," he says. "His weakness poisoned his children. Legions of the broken populating the Earth. An entire species, diseased."

Castiel does not deny any of this. But he smiles, an odd tilt of his lips as he sets down his cup. "Weakness can be a strength at times." Cain knows exactly what Castiel is referring to.

From any other creature, these words would stir Cain to give the Mark the blood it still craves. He does not permit references to his lost love lightly. Even now, the curse shivers on his arm. It feels Castiel's vessel. Hot, mortal blood begging to be spilled.

But a new curiosity stays Cain's hand. Castiel speaks of Colette, but he does so to reference his own pain. An angel fallen to a similar depth.

"You remind me of her in some ways," Cain murmurs. "My Colette." Castiel frowns at this. Cain frowns too. "You will love what you should not, Castiel. This is why they will kill you."

"Love saved you," Castiel argues.

Cain shakes his head. "Love segregated me from what I am. It will do the same with you."

Castiel glares at him, then down at his mug. His fists ball against the counter top. But he does not argue.

Why did he come then, Cain wonders? Was it fleeting hope that Cain would tell him something different?

"Do you feel illuminated?" Cain asks.

Castiel scowls like a child. "I should not have come," he mutters.

Cain smiles. "Ah, you're learning." He takes both mugs to the sink and begins to wash. The faucet water is warm on his hands. "You can leave now, Castiel," Cain says, back turned. "It would be wise for you to stay away."

"Or what?" Castiel's voice is low with menace. Poor angel. Other creatures must cower at his divine might.

Cain does not. He smirks instead, wide and dangerous. "I would hate to ruin the surprise," he says.

Castiel's eyes glow a threatening blue.  Cain is not concerned. Castiel does not possess the strength to kill him. Nor did he come here to try, despite this bluster.

Cain returns his attention to the sink, and to the cleaning of their cups. He only looks up at a rustle of wings. A glance confirms that Castiel is gone.

***

It is many months before Cain is bothered again. He tends to his bees and the garden gifted to him. It is a comfortable solitude. After years of bloodshed, this forced seclusion is a welcome reprieve. It won't last, Cain knows. But he will enjoy it while it does.

But one day, Cain smells him. His little bird.

Cain intends to ignore Castiel. A kind response, given the violence he implied at the close of their last encounter. But Castiel's scent has changed since his last visit. The shift intrigues Cain. He opens his door.

Castiel's vessel is on his knees on the doorstep. He is muttering broken Enochian, arms coiled around himself. Blood drips from the sleeves of his trench coat, rivers of red between his fingers.

Cain hoists him with a sigh and brings him inside. With a shortage of other options, Cain sets him on the couch. Castiel twitches against the cushions and clutches his coat tighter. He is conscious, at least. As the rest of his body stutters, his stare fixes on Cain.

"Is this what a fallen angel looks like?" Cain asks. Castiel's attempted answer is a garble of sounds.

Cain removes his trench coat and the suit jacket beneath. The task is a strain with Castiel's shudders, but the bird shifts as much as possible to assist. Cain loosens his tie and opens his shirt buttons.

Castiel is a human pin cushion. Hundreds of bloody dots mark his skin's surface. Red drops trickle down his torso. He is a human waterfall.

Despite the river of red, the flesh wounds are minor. It is the absence of something more dire that captures Cain's attention. "There is no human soul in your vessel, Castiel," he says.

Castiel nods. He does not speak, only balls himself tighter on the couch.

Cain grumbles. There is a wool blanket draped along the back of the couch. Cain pulls it around Castiel's shoulders. The angel grabs it and wraps it around himself. Funny thing, an angel that feels cold.

"Your grace is different," Cain observes. "Weak."

"I was dead," Castiel rasps. "I...should not be here."

"Yes," Cain mutters. "You've told me this before."

"Here," Castiel repeats, louder. "Alive. There was a light at the home of the prophet. Raphael. The soul left me. Then, everything dissolved. The human body. My true form. There is no chance I survived."

"Yet, here you are," Cain says.

Castiel nods. "Yes."

"Have I become the safehouse for fallen angels, Castiel?"

"Lucifer has returned," Castiel says, by way of a response.

Cain frowns. Castiel's statement is not a surprise. Lucifer's return blazed through the dormant curse on his arm. But confirmation of a truth already known still pains him.

Cain sits beside Castiel on the couch. "You will not be safe here," Castiel warns.

"Is an angel worried for the Father of Murder?" Cain chuckles. "Don't be. The Devil has little use for me now."

"He will draw you back to his service," Castiel tells him. "Or he will kill you."

"Lucifer won't kill me. I'm not even sure that he can." Cain's smile is thin. "He can have his Apocalypse without his Knight." He covers his forearm with a hand. The Mark is like fire beneath his sleeve.

"Demons will not be enough," Castiel argues.

"His legions will suffice," Cain tells him. "He will drink from them, or they will be his shield. Sam Winchester is all he needs now."

Castiel knows this, but the truth irks him. He grits his teeth and glares at the floor.

Cain observes him closer. His wrinkled brow. The wet corners of his eyes. "You feel pain," he remarks.

Castiel nods. "More than before. Yes."

"You can't heal yourself."

"I am cut off from Heaven," Castiel says.

"For choosing Michael's vessel over Heaven."

"Dean," Castiel says. "Yes."

"Was he worth it?"

Castiel sighs. He grips the blanket edges with unsteady fingers. "Dean could not stop the final seal from falling-"

"Lilith." Cain nods. "I sensed her demise."

"But I still believe... I have to believe he can..." Castiel lowers his head. "Lucifer failed to take Sam Winchester when he escaped the cage. Until he succeeds, there is hope."

Cain smiles. "You are hanging the fate of the world on two boys, little bird."

Castiel glares at him. "You hung your fate on one woman."

Cain is on him in an instant, his hand around the angel's throat. Castiel's eyes widen beneath his weight, choking up at the steeled eyes of the demon.

"I have subdued myself for years, Castiel," Cain warns. "But there are things I will gladly sate the Mark's thirst for."

Beneath him, Castiel goes still. His face reddens from lack of air. But he does not fight. He tips his head back with the pride of the battlefield, holding Cain's stare. Small, gagged noises are his only signs of distress.

This is not what Cain wants, no matter the screams pulsing from his arm. Cain releases Castiel with a grunt. Soft, pink marks linger on his neck.

Castiel swallows air, blinking in a daze. But he does not struggle under Cain's weight.

Cain moves the hand that had been at Castiel's neck into his hair. His fingers curl through soft strands. Under his touch, blood dries and bruises fade. The thorn-pricks on Castiel's chest stitch themselves together. A violent collide of blood and flesh, laced together by the power of Hell.

Castiel's head bows, his eyelids drooping as his aches ease. "Did we make a deal?" he asks.

Cain snorts his disapproval. "Don't compare me to a crossroads demon," he mutters. As the purple and blue welts dry from Castiel's face, he eases the hand in his hair to a gentle stroke. "You presented me with gifts once. A demon is capable of doing the same."

Castiel smiles, but the expression is dim. He tips his head back, towards the fingers stroking his hair. His eyes close for a moment, then struggle back open, bleary.

"Do you need sleep in this form?" Cain asks.

"Once I am restored, no," Castiel murmurs. "But yes, for now."

"Take it here then," Cain says. "Tomorrow, I want you gone. For good this time, Castiel."

Castiel sighs. Cain stands and leaves the angel to doze on his couch, retreating to the bedroom.

The bed is not needed for sleep of his own. But Cain keeps it anyway. It is a good place for contemplation, and it serves as a memory of his mortal love. The many nights he spent watching Colette. Before he failed her, in the end.

He listens for trackers on the heels of his reborn bird. Nothing. Hours pass.

It is still dark when the door to his room opens. Castiel enters without invitation and sits on his side of the bed. His dress shirt is still unbuttoned, the wounds on his torso completely healed.

Cain shakes his head. "Your God afforded you new life, and you intend to die with it."

"The Winchesters are my cause now." Castiel tilts his head, pensive. "I...cannot see any way I survive this."

"You survived once," Cain points out.

Castiel smiles. "A gift," he says. "From my Father. I hope."

There is a question in his words, hinting at a possibility far more dangerous. It is something Cain considered too. Is Castiel alive because of Heaven, or is this the meddling of the Star of Morning?

But Lucifer is no longer Cain's concern. He pats the open side of the mattress. Castiel stands and crosses to the other side of the bed. He sits beside Cain, back against the headboard.

"Come," Cain says.

Castiel looks at him. After a moment's hesitation, he turns on the mattress, his hands placed on Cain's waist. His hands are warm, long fingers curled over bone.

Cain catches his chin between a thumb and forefinger. The thumb strokes beneath his jaw, a warring contrast of stubble and soft. Castiel does not move, but his eyes widen at the touch.

"Come," Cain repeats.

Castiel swallows, then leans closer. His lips are soft to Cain's, a breath of surprise caught between them. Cain waits, holding his chin. Castiel's mouth parts, a nudge of interest.

Cain accepts. He digs his thumb beneath Castiel's chin as his mouth closes around the lower lip of the vessel. He suckles it and rubs with his tongue.

A shiver goes through Castiel. Cain hears the distant twitch of wings. A sigh slips between lips opened wider, encouraging. As Cain takes his lower lip, Castiel takes his upper, plucked into his mouth like a hanging berry. He hums his soft enjoyment.

Cain nods his head back, forehead to forehead with the vessel. He can feel a hint of the grace beneath, a cold, beautiful glow. 

Castiel gazes at him beneath lowered lashes. He smiles before he dips his chin, mouth in Cain's beard. Graying stubble rasps against the soft pressure of his lips.

Cain rewards him with a stroke of his hair. "I didn't save you for this, you know," he says.

"Yes, I know."

Cain's fingers leave his hair to drag down the back of his neck. "Reveal yourself to me, Castiel," he says. The angel shakes his head. Cain is not pleased. "Is a demon not worthy?"

Castiel shakes his head again. "My grace is restoring itself inside this vessel. It is not strong enough to exist outside it. Not yet."

Cain huffs. It is a sincere excuse. But unfortunate. He thinks back to the past, another plane of battle. The true form of the angel kneeling before him. Broken, bleeding. His mighty head lifted with pride. A sweet vision, this flaw in God's design.

"Can you show your wings?" he asks.

Castiel shrugs his shirt from his shoulders, leaving it beside them on the bed. He lowers his eyes, a furrow between them. From his back, the feathers span. Long, black wings.

Cain absorbs the sight. They are a physical manifestation, limited in size and scope. But they are a shadow of the true magnitude Cain has seen. And they are striking, even like this. He moves his hand down from Castiel's neck. It rakes through the expanse of black feathers. Castiel sighs. His hands dig more pressure into Cain's waist.

"Come, bird," Cain murmurs.

Castiel closes their distance. His lips fit to Cain's with greater confidence. Castiel's mouth nudges, insistent, parting Cain's lips. His tongue teases in the space between them. Fingers curl around Cain's wrists and slide up his arms. Tentative, Castiel's thumb crosses the curse raised on Cain's skin.

The Mark flares hot, and Castiel jerks his hand back. But not fast enough. Cain rips through black feathers, a pair dislodged between his fingers. Castiel yelps, the pain new and unexpected. Panic stretches his eyes, and he instinctively scrambles back.  

Cain stops him, hand again catching his chin. Castiel breathes hard, an anxious flush across his cheeks. His shock eases as Cain's free hand returns to his wings. Gentle, this time. Patient, doting combs through feathers. 

His touch is slow and attentive. When Castiel twitches, Cain repeats his stroke. When Castiel shivers, he lingers, increased pressure in his caress. The angel arches against him with a gasp

Cain pauses to wrap arms around his waist. He guides Castiel to straddle him, his vessel's weight on his thighs. It is a selfish act, one that gives free access to Castiel's proud, extended neck. Cain buries his face, his tongue dragged up the column. His beard rasps against delicate human skin.

"I didn't save you for this," Cain says again, the words a low murmur against his skin. His teeth hook over a throat tendon and squeeze.

Castiel's fingers grip tight in his hair. He pulls, daring thing. Cain permits him, dropping his head back and allowing Castiel to kiss him again. Castiel's wings flutter behind him, a soft breeze following his shiver of pleasure. Cain feels his arousal, heavy on top of his own.

"I know," Castiel murmurs. He backs away just enough, breaths between Cain's parted lips. Their noses graze. Castiel's eyes are slits of blue between low lashes.

Cain smiles, a dangerous tilt against the jaw of the angel. Castiel sighs. His poor, swollen arousal is a weight on Cain's slacks. Cain slides a hand around it, grinding it with the heel of his palm.

Castiel groans. His waist twitches, a tick of pressure on Cain's hips. He feels his own interest, a long dormant thing. This desire is a pale comparison to the devotion to his love. But it is desire nonetheless, a kinship with a creature unlike himself. Cain needs to possess it, to understand it inside and out.

"Have you been touched like this, Castiel?"

The angel shakes his head. "I am intimately aware of the act," he says. "But I never had due cause to experience it."

Cain chuckles. "Intimately aware." His mouth follows Castiel's jaw to the point, beside an ear. Here, he lets his teeth sink in, a slow, rough worry. 

Castiel sucks in a breath. His wings rustle as his hips rolls forward, a nudge of pressure against Cain's hand. Cain squeezes him for his efforts. Castiel shifts closer, a groan on his lips.

Closer is what Cain wants. He moves his hand from the front of Castiel's slacks to the small of his back. He taps once. The angel moves as directed, seating himself on Cain's waist. Strong thighs straddle Cain's hips, his arousal thick against Cain's pants.

Cain decides that he likes this vessel. Before, it seemed plain. Pleasant to the eye but otherwise bland. But Cain sees now, there is a confidence to this body. A quiet assurance in the squareness of the jaw, the long tension of the neck. The thickness of the shoulders and the firm posture of the back. An athlete's body covered by laughably ill-fitting clothes. Like a soldier shrouded in the sanctimonious light of Heaven.

Castiel tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear and closes his lips around the lobe. His breaths stroke the inner shell. A hand stretches lazily across Cain's throat. Cain swallows for him. At the bob of his Adam's apple, the angel exhales shakily.

Cain reaches for his wings again. In his true form, he could devour all at once, rake the long claws of Hell through every raven feather. But there is something sweet about the use of his human hands. Their limitations somehow make each touch more precious.

Cain's fingers slide from the small of Castiel's back into feathers. The angel's wings stretch for him, spanning the length of the bedroom. Castiel's mouth falls from his ear. A low sound whispers against Cain's hair.

Colette, too, liked pretty things. She kept a birdhouse in the yard, took notes on the different species that frequented their home. The color, the song. She would have delighted in a thing like Castiel. 

Cain reaches higher, tracing ridging and bone. Scrapes of his nails, just hard enough to sting. Castiel gasps above him. His waist presses down harder, a firm friction between their bodies. Castiel's unfocused eyes flit about, mouth scrambling for words that refuse to form. Little whimpers fall instead.

Cain hums when Castiel's forehead touches his again. His open mouth asks permission. 

Cain adds his second hand to the first, raking through black feathers. Castiel whines, and this is when Cain kisses him. Muffled sounds on his lips. a grind of Castiel's waist against his. A more insistent rhythm, the bird settling into a rise and fall of his own doing. No guidance, no orders. He rubs himself onto Cain, each shift making him gasp against Cain's lips.

He groans when Cain tastes him. First, a touch of tongue on his lips. Then past, to the teeth. Castiel's lips are a wet pressure. He is sweet to the taste. Cain feels a tease of Castiel's tongue against his own. Their lips move, heads tilting as opposites, open spaces soon filled again. Breaths burst from flared nostrils.

Cain's arms stretch to their human limits, to the tips of Castiel's wings. Not able to touch all, but able to touch enough. Castiel lifts his head back. He takes a desperate breath, body moving faster against Cain's. A quiet, "I..." jumps from him.

_I._ Castiel is truly fallen, then.

Castiel's face is warm. His body is warmer, flushed with want. Cain's hands cup the place where wings becomes skin. Broken flesh, open to Cain's exploration. Castiel jerks against him. He moans and drops again from his lips.

Cain pursues, biting at his mouth. Castiel responds immediately. He wants to kiss him, but he cannot. Friction and hands make him pull away again, a nervous tremor in his limbs. 

Cain takes his mouth again, this time with a growl. An unspoken order to stay. Castiel's arms loop around his shoulders. Fingers knot in Cain's hair. He holds tight as he arches on top. Cain drags his hands back up. Castiel gasps. He falls from Cain's lips, then finds him again. He shivers, all effort now focused on keeping his mouth on Cain's. 

Cain's hands rise. Castiel hisses and falls off. "I...I can't..."

Cain drags nails down the tender skin between his wings. Castiel goes corpse stiff. His mouth open and silent, eyes large and vacant. His waist jerks, and a choked sound bubbles out.

Cain repeats the motion, watching with dark eyes. Castiel spasms again, frantic pumps of his hips against Cain's body. " _Oh_." He sinks against Cain's chest, forehead to his temple. "Oh..."

He's made a mess, little bird. Cain chuckles and holds him. The angel wilts over his torso, mouth to his jaw. His wings tuck behind him, shaking their contentment.

"Is it morning?" Castiel mumbles.

"No." 

Castiel sighs and closes his eyes. Cain's hands lace together in the small of his back.

When morning does arrive, Castiel cleans himself and departs. The angel is true to his word. He does not return.

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm also on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) :)


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